Page 30 of Sing Your Secrets
Snap.
We both grunt as we plummet two feet down through the stage.
***
“How’s your dad?” Sienna asks in a garbled tone through the phone. I check my service and notice my battery—five percent. Shit.
“He’s fine, just a sprained ankle. Your service sucks by the way.”
Breathing in the brisk night air, I relish the first break I’ve given myself today. I’m sore from all the manual labor. I was supposed to take the day off, but I settled for sleeping in. I got to The Garage at noon. I check my phone again. It’s nine in the evening. I literally haven’t drunk water, eaten, or pissed all day. I popped in my AirPods, pulled up Spotify on my phone, blasted my motivation playlist—which I’ll admit is mostly just Drake rapping about starting at the bottom and then making it—and nine hours later, I desperately need a charger.
Me and my dad’s mishap on stage could’ve been worse. His ankle is swollen but nothing a little ice can’t fix, or so he says. I’m sporting a few scrapes and bruises to the back, but nothing to miss work over. I’m on my own today, stripping the wooden boards of the stage, one by one. I saved the signed pieces and piled them neatly in the corner. The rest of that wooden safety hazard has to go.
It’s an opportunity. I have bigger plans. I always thought a catwalk into the audience would be cool. We’ll get the stage completely redesigned, I just need to talk to Law first about how much wiggle room I have in the reno budget. Tearing down the stage by myself should save us a little money.
“We’re in the mountains,” Sienna says. “I’m surprised I have service at all.”
“No worries, my phone is about to die.” Grabbing my throat, I realize how parched I am. “Do you guys want me to bring home some fast food? I’m about done here.”
“We’re staying in Breckenridge for two more nights. Our anniversary. Remember?”
“Oh shit, that’s right.” Dammit. I should’ve gotten them something. “Happy Anniversary.”
“Thank you. And no parties while Mom and Dad are away, okay?” Sienna snarks.
“Very funny. Hey, I don’t know how to set the alarm.”
“It’s already set on a schedule. Don’t fuck with it. Miles, I’m serious. Just make sure you use your key. If you even jiggle the front door handle or try to open a window, the automatic lasers will slice you in half.”
“Exaggeration,” Law calls out. I didn’t realize I was on speaker.
“All right, I’m going to pack up and go crash.”
“Sounds good—hey what did you need by the way?” Law asks.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You called me before Sienna jumped in,” he says.
“Oh, right. When Dad’s up and about again, we’re planning to rebuild the stage a little bigger to accommodate bigger bands. Meaning that we’re rebuilding this as a venue. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. It will officially be unfit to sell as a mega Starbucks once we do this.”
He’s silent for a moment and there’s a slapping sound in the background. Eventually, I hear Sienna—who thinks she’s whispering, but is not—say, “Tell him.”
“It’s still too early,” Law says in a hushed tone. They bicker back and forth until I remind them that I have a front-row seat to their entire conversation.
“Guys no offense, but whatever you need to say”—I pull my phone from my ear and check the battery again and see three percent—“you gotta say it quick.”
“We might’ve found a buyer,” Sienna blurts out.
“What?” And what I mean is what the fuck? “Already?” I try and fail to control my stammering. “How is that possible? You didn’t even list it on the market.”
“A realtor contacted me and said that her client was interested in purchasing The Garage once it’s fully restored. Apparently, her client wanted the property for a while but the bank had it locked up. I made the purchase the minute it went to auction, so I guess I beat him to the punch.”
“Who’s the client?”
“I’m not sure. She said she wanted to protect his privacy—”
“Which probably means it’s a big-name celebrity!” Sienna squeals as the sound of rapid clapping is in the background.